Where it all began
by pkat369
Summary: One shot of the District Two reaping for the 74th Hunger Games. Clove's P.O.V. CatoXClove Reviews are appreciated! :
1. The Reaping

**I don't own the Hunger Games or any of its fantastic characters. Here is my take on the District Two reaping for the 74th Hunger Games. Review please! **

"Rayna Newcon."

"I-," the proper volunteer begins.

"I volunteer!" I yell, cutting her off.

Well now I've done it.

But I bring myself back to my senses, and walk towards the stage. _You were trained for these games. You can do this, Clove. _I meet District 2's escort, Chevonne Glistor, at the edge of the stage. As she leads me over to the microphone I can't help but think of how much my older sister, Anin, must hate me right now. She sketched out every detail of how I would win these Games, and I've just thrown it all away. No fifteen-year old is supposed to volunteer.

In District 2, children are sent to the Academy at age 8, if they are eligible. (That's two years younger than the Academy in District 1.) The Academy is much like a University in the Capitol, only we study much different things. Also the process is diverse. Once you are 12, you are assigned a dorm, and you begin living on campus. Whereas at a Capitol university, you come and go as you please. But universities are for academic studies. Our studies are focused on one thing at the Academy. How to kill.

Then there's the Academy's annual Volunteer Competition. Every eligible eighteen-year old who has attended all 10 years at the Academy can participate. Girls fight girls, and boys fight boys. Until there are two left. Those two will become our tributes. The others don't die; they just live life, regretting that they lost the competition. That's the story for my sister, Anin.

She was the runner-up for the girls, and almost won. But she didn't, so she never entered the Games. This is why she has made sure that I will. Even during the breaks home from the Academy, I train. Harder than I do at the Academy. She pushes me hard, to do my best, and to never let my guard down. So I don't. She thinks that by the time I turn eighteen, I will be ready for the Volunteer Competition, and the Games.

But I am ready now.

"What is your name?" Chevonne asks bubbly as ever.

"Clove Lansin." I answer. I knew I was going to volunteer for a while now, but it still feels unnatural looking over District 2.

"Lovely, lovely, lovely! Now I believe you're a little small for an eighteen-year old," she says curiously.

"I'm fifteen." I say quickly.

"Didn't want to wait?"

I shake my head, and smirk.

"And now, the male tribute for District 2." Chevonne ambles over to the boys' reaping bowl. Her heavily manicured hands look out-of-place inside the simple, glass sphere. Her hand hovers a bit, then attacks one of the names. Once she's at the microphone again, she unfolds the slip of paper. Then, she reads the name, "Niko-,"

"I volunteer!"

Before volunteers were called, he was invisible in the crowd. Swallowed whole by the ocean of grey and black, which is District 2's population on reaping day. But once he had shot up his hand, you couldn't miss Cato Reven if he was a crack on the pavement. He strolls to the stage, flashing his signature grin across his pearly-white teeth. He was _made_ for the games, and everyone knows it. That's how he won the volunteer competition this year. And that's why he's going into the arena this year. With me.

He crosses the stage to stand beside me."What's your name, dear?" Chevonne asks him. He leans in, close to her, and whispers his name.

"District Two, I am honored to present your tributes for the 74th annual Hunger Games; Cato Reven and Clove Lansin!" The crowd explodes with applaud, and it comes to my attention how easy it is to forget the vastness District 2, or its population at least.

I stand and grin, in an effort to make myself look sponsor-worthy to the Capitol's eye. I can feel Cato's gaze on me, studying my face. After about thirty seconds of his staring, I know he is onto me. Inside me, the discomfort is eating me alive.

My eyes drift up, and meet his. They are a beautifully deep, royal blue, but distant nonetheless. Distant and unreachable. That's all he is.

But my theory is proven wrong, when out of nowhere he takes my hand in his, and tucks both of them behind the folds of my grey dress. Hiding them from our families and friends, from the Academy, from District Two, even from the Capitol.

Then I realize what it all means; he was unreachable. Now, we both are.


	2. The Goodbye

**So this is my take on Clove's goodbyes before she leaves for the Games. I don't own any of the characters, or the Hunger Games in a whole. Reviews are appreciated. :)**

I sit in the formal room alone, waiting for my visitors to come in and say goodbye. A few friends from the institute come in and slip out just as quickly. I remember past District victors saying that the goodbyes were the most mundane, arid part of the Games. Only then do I hear my Anin's voice approaching. Well, this won't be dull.

The mahogany door opens smoothly, leading in my sister and a peacekeeper. Just as every time before, he says, "Three minutes," in a firm voice then exits once again.

As soon as the door is shut, Anin turns to me; red-faced and furious.

"How could you do that? After all the time you've spent training! Do you want to throw all of that away? Are you trying to get yourself killed? Why-"

"Anin, I made my decision! Badgering me about it won't change anything. I'm going to the Capitol." I state, trying to calm her, but also to appear more mature in her eyes.

For the next few moments, the room is hushed, aside from Anin's heavy breathing. "Why? Just tell me why. Please."

I think that's the first time she's ever said that word to me. "I didn't want to wait, Anin. I'm ready now. I'm sure of it. You taught me so well; I'm above everyone at least two years ahead of me."

I don't know what I was expecting from her; maybe the harsh expression to abscond her face, her hazel eyes to soften, their gaze to leave the burgundy carpet. Nevertheless, she remains staring at the ground, as if she's waiting for something.

I yearn to say that something, whatever it is that she needs to hear. I just need her to look at me before I go. But all too soon, the swings open and the Peacekeeper ambles in. "Time's up."

My sister turns to the peacekeeper, nods, and then she faces me with a disgusted look on her face. "Good Luck, Clove."

Those were the last words she said to me.


End file.
